What if our time together is limited? Not just in years, months, and days, but in the number of times I am allowed to look at you, laugh and cry with you, kiss you, talk to you, make love to you, fall in love with you all over again? What if someone up there is keeping count of all these things? An angel bookkeeper of some sort. Who one day decides to uncross our paths, because I exceeded my quota allotted to me for loving you. No, my love, I will hazard no chances: I will love you a little today and save the rest for tomorrow.